


the kids are alright

by xivz



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Book 2: Wayward Son, Carry On Exchange (Simon Snow), Lamb never happened, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of intoxication, Mutual Pining, Not, Romance, True Love, Vampire Bites, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28283907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xivz/pseuds/xivz
Summary: On my left ring finger is a simple gold band. One that wasn’t there yesterday. “Oh.”“What?” Baz breathes, staring up at my hand with wide eyes. Slowly, he brings his left hand up as well.We match.—•—Simon Snow has done a lot of reckless, daring, and downright stupid things in his short life. However, his misadventure in America has shown him that as a former Chosen One he’d never be Normal. Which...Simon supposed he could deal with. But, what he hadn’t meant to do—never in a million years—was drag Baz Pitch down with him.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 52
Kudos: 211
Collections: COE Winter 2020





	the kids are alright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aralias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/gifts).



> aralias— surprise! (Pfft 😂). Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Also, HUGE thank you to my gorgeous beta’s giishu and waterwings 🖤. Without them, this fic would’ve been poop.

**BAZ**

I wake up to bright sunlight hitting me in the face from open curtains—it stings like the dickens. My head is pounding and my mouth tastes of a stale combination of liquor and cum (it’s disgusting). I can’t recall most of last night. I don’t even know where I am. All I know for certain is that I had sex last night. A smatter of bronze hair in my periphery calms my nerves. The helpless groan that escapes me hurts my throat, and I try to shift in the bed, only to be hit on the torso by a leathery red wing.

 _Simon_. 

Honestly, I don’t remember going out with him last night. I can see that we’re not in the hotel room that we rented with Bunce and the American. This is a different suite. It’s nicer, larger, with a single bed. 

Slowly, so as not to move my skull too much, I turn to look at my boyfriend. He’s just as bare as I am, lying on his stomach with his arse out for all to see. His wings shift and flutter, and his tail is curled around his thigh. There are miles of skin to look at, freckles and moles and dips and canyons. I can’t remember the last time I saw him naked—it was before this hellacious trip abroad. Before he spent all of his days lying on the sofa drinking himself stupid on cider. 

Back when he used to kiss me just because. 

The heat radiating from him is nearly as warm and all encompassing as the Nevada desert. I want to reach over and map all of the new details of his body. I want to trace the freckles that I’ve memorized and see if any new one’s have appeared while under the American sun. I want to burrow my face into the back of his neck and just inhale.

He’s rounder now, and broader. Still handsome, and still something I’d like to sink my teeth—

The dried blood on his neck causes a surge of fear to spike through me. Puncture wounds, healing and bruised. 

My mind flashes to Simon dragging me to an alleyway, arching his neck and offering it to me. And me, starving, drunk, (weak) and taking it. Of the tang of his blood rushing into my mouth and both of us moaning loudly.

_I bit Simon._

I did something I told myself I would never fucking do in my life. 

I’m attempting to sit up, to check properly, to ensure that I hadn’t killed my boyfriend last night—or worse, Turned him. However, my legs become tangled in the sheets, a mess of cheap linens that smell like bleach and regret, and before I can prevent it from happening, I’m falling off the bed in a heap. The shag carpet does nothing to soften the blow.

  
  
  


**SIMON**

A loud _thump_ wakes me up and the sunlight on my face finishes the job. My head hurts a little, but it’s only a mild headache. Other than that, I feel...good. Really good. I haven’t felt this relaxed...I cast my mind back in time and see a sequence of monsters and war and couches and a life gone stale and realize that I’ve probably never felt this calm. 

It takes me a moment to realize that I’m naked, and in a forgein environment. This definitely isn’t the room that Penny booked for us. 

My arse is a little tender, and my body feels as if it’s been through a vigorous workout, and I know that it’s been a while since I’ve last had sex but I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. Because—because I don’t remember meeting up with Baz last night. And if I wasn’t with Baz then that means _I was with someone else_. And who the fuck would cheat on Basilton Pitch? He’s bloody perfection personified. He’s brilliant, graceful, and strong and entirely too good for me. 

I know that I was going to break up with him, I know that was the plan, but I didn’t want it to end like this. I would never forgive myself for this. I’m a human sized pile of garbage that someone lit on fire under a bridge somewhere. I’m the exhaust of a thousand fucking mistakes

A whine from the floor causes me to refocus my attention. 

The bloke!

Slowly, I peer over the edge of the bed and catch a glimpse of pale limbs and dark hair. The sight of him causes relief to flood through me.

“ _Baz_ ,” I say and it comes out as more of a sigh.

He’s sprawled with a sheet covering the lower half of his body, all long limbs and flawless skin. He has one of his hands covering his eyes, but his mouth is open in a grimace with all of his teeth exposed as he hisses. 

“Right,” I say as I crawl off the bed and step over him to close the heavy curtains.

Walking is a bit of a chore. I’m sore, not in a bad way necessarily, but it’s still a bit uncomfortable. My arse honestly feels a bit bruised and my legs need a good stretch. My skin is itchy, and when I look down I see there’s dried cum on my belly. I’m suddenly assaulted with the memory of being bent over the massive bed, clawing at the sheets, all while begging. Baz giving me almost more than I can handle, and I remember crying out with every single thrust. 

It’s enough to get my blood rushing and heat to spread to my ears as I reach for the heavy drapes on either side of the large window.

As soon as I close the curtains, I turn and look for my pants. Our clothes are everywhere. It takes several minutes to find them, and by the time I slide them up my legs and over my hips, Baz is sitting up. He’s gorgeous (of course), with a five o’clock shadow grazing his jaw and his hair mussed in a way that almost looks intentional. I can’t help staring at his nipples and chest hair, following the trail of hair down to the sheet that’s preserving his modesty.

“I don’t remember much of last night,” I say. My voice sounds rough. I extend my hand down to help Baz stand up and freeze. 

On my left ring finger is a simple gold band. One that wasn’t there yesterday. “ _Oh_.”

“What?” Baz breathes, staring up at my hand with wide eyes. Slowly, he brings his left hand up as well. 

We match. 

“We—we’re...I mean..we’re—“

“No, no, no.”

“Do you—uh—“

“Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Baz grabs my hand and I pull him up. He’s got a tight grip of the blanket around his waist, and he’s got his Thinking Face™️ on.

“You have dried cum on you,” he says, wrinkling his nose. 

“Because that’s the important part in all of this,” I say as I roll my eyes. I kind of want to scratch it off, but decide against it. I’ll shower, a room this posh is bound to have an excellent bathroom.I drag my thoughts away from what promises to be a giant tub and excellent water pressure to try and focus on the fact that... “We’re married.”

“What an excellent observation, Snow.”

“To _each other_!”

I’m not sure what I’m feeling. It’s a bit of a jumbled mess if I’m honest. I love Baz, in a way that I’ve never loved anyone or anything before. But, I hadn’t planned on marrying him—no, that’s not right. In another life, I would have married Baz. We could have grown old together. But....The way things are now, the way I am now, it’s not wise. I’ll hold Baz back—I’ve been holding him back. He deserves so much better than I can offer. 

I twist the ring around on my finger, staring down at it. It looks cheap, like the type of jewelry that will leave your skin green if you wear it for too long. It figures I’d give Baz costume jewelry and a Vegas wedding; there’s nothing magical there. Everything about this is a perfect example of everything wrong with me and what Baz’ll miss out on by being with me. 

I’m a fucking mess. 

(I’m willing to bet money that a bloke dressed as Elvis officiated our wedding.) (In fact, I know that’s exactly what happened, because a flash of a bedazzled white and gold pantsuit comes to mind.)

“I’m going to shower,” I say. My gaze wanders around the room, spying a half empty bottle of lube on the nightstand. I pick up my discarded t-shirt and jeans, only wincing a little at the pull of my muscles, and start towards a door that must lead to the bathroom 

“Right,” Baz says, he’s got his hand in his hair and he looks like a fucking Greek statue. Perfectly chiseled and poised, my fingers twitch with the need to touch him. I want to run my hands down his body, I want to feel his muscles move underneath his soft skin. I...

I want to tell him that it’ll be alright, that we’ll figure it out. I want to do so many things, but can’t bring myself to do any of them. Instead, I nod and make my way into the bathroom that’s bigger than the flat Penny and I share back home. 

  
  
  


**BAZ**

Why bother getting dressed when I can drape the sheet over me like a makeshift toga? There’s a menu for in-room dining in the nightstand drawer, and I pick it up. My eyes narrow at the cover. _Bellagio_.

The Bellagio is only one of the most famous hotels in Las Vegas. How the fuck did we manage to get a room last night? What did we do to—

Simon has barely been in the bathroom for five minutes when he comes rushing out naked. Again. At this point, I’ve seen more of Simon Snow in a single morning than I have in nearly six months. (What was the point of him putting on pants when he’s just going to run around starkers?) “You bit me!”

He’s gesturing to the bruises on his throat, the ones that I forgot all about in the madness that followed after he woke up. 

My head decides then to remind me that I am grossly hungover and not at all prepared for any of this. Still, my worry overrides my urge to vomit. “Fuck.”

I remember what his blood tasted like. Bacon butties and salt and vinegar crisps, and everything fucking fatty and delicous food that I have ever eaten. The thought of Simon’s blood makes my gums ache, but not ravenously. I feel sated for the first time in my life, I feel normal. Not Normal, but full and content. And extremely hungover in spite of it all—a morbid part of me wonders if I’d vomit blood instead of whatever foodstuff may be in my belly from last night.

“I don’t think I’m a vampire,” Simon muses. He’s distracting, all bronze and gold flecked, like a piece of art on display. The temptation to go to him is too great. I want to place my mouth over every part of him that I can see. “No thirst for blood, and the sun didn’t bother me when I closed the curtains. My sense of smell isn’t any different and neither is my eyesight.”

“You’re very naked,” is all that I can manage to croak. The information he’s providing me is too much for my brain to currently handle while it’s in it’s fragile state. The sight of his flush creeping down his chest and towards his navel make me want to fall to my knees in worship. 

“So are you,” Simon points out. “We had sex last night. We—what’s that word?— _consummated_ the marriage. You bit me! Fucking fuck, I’m going to shower.” He turns on his heels and goes back into the bathroom. 

That was probably the most Simon has said to me in weeks.

The fact that he and I had sex should’ve been obvious, given the dried cum on his stomach and the taste of him lingering on my tongue. (And the lube on the nightstand, and the fact that my body aches in the delicious way it does only after a good shag.) 

It’s all a lot to take in. 

We got married when I thought he was going to break up with me. (No, I correct myself, in an effort to keep myself honest. He was going to, but hadn’t found the right moment to do it). 

We had sex, when it’s been months since the last time he’s even touched me. I drank from him, something I’ve been yearning for since I was fifteen and now we’re here, in a hotel that costs more than our illegal budget would allow.

Can Simon and I get the marriage annulled? It’s not as though I don’t want to be married to him, but is this something that he wants? Simon Snow was going to leave me; now he’s stuck with me. This isn’t fair. 

The sound of running water soothes me a little. I place the room service menu down and cradle my head in my hands for a moment. I can only imagine what my father is going to say about this entire trip. First Omaha and now this. I can’t imagine which he’d think is worse. I can’t imagine what Fiona would say.

I stare at the ring on my finger. I never imagined my wedding ring being so plain. It’s a simple gold band—actually it may not be real gold. Gold plated, maybe. There are no extra adornments to it. I wonder where we purchased them from or if wherever we wed sold them in their establishment. Probably. I wouldn’t put it past this city to do such things. Still—real or not, I can’t bring myself to take it off. I just...I am a weak hearted man and a fool sick in love. I want this to be real.

Penelope is probably worried out of her mind. 

She also may have murdered Shepard sometime during the night.

I go to my trousers and search the pockets for my phone. It’s dead. It died last night. That much I can remember. I left the vampire themed hotel to have some alone time. I needed it. I pretended I was someone else for the night, not the last heir to the house Pitch, not a lost mage in an forgein country. I was just a twenty-one year old feeling sorry for himself and wanting to do something reckless without it getting back to my family. Only, to pretend to be someone else was near impossible, what with my being a dark creature and the infestation of blood suckers in this city. 

Vampires practically own Las Vegas. They were _everywhere_. A few had Normals trailing after them like lost puppies, and several tourists had bruises on their necks from being bitten—yet no one seemed to Turn. 

I went to a classic American diner, where all of the beverages had alcohol and the steak was so rare that it was near raw. That’s where things begin to get hazy. I drank too much, more than I should have. Bourbon strawberry milkshakes. 

What kind of responsible establishment allows heavily intoxicated people to marry? Honestly! This country is a cesspool of poor decisions and deep fried foods. 

The shower is still running when Simon comes out with his jeans slung low on his hips and a towel resting over his shoulders as he dries his hair. No wonder it’s always such a frizzy mess. 

“I turned the water to scalding for you,” he says, and it makes my insides warm. “There’s an unopened spare toothbrush by the sink and a mini toothpaste. I didn’t think hotels offered those.”

Most places don’t. I’d hate to see the bill for this room. 

“Thank you,” I say as I stand. I hand him the menu right as I drop the sheet that was covering me. “Get whatever you want.”

His face is a lovely shade of pink, and I can tell exactly what he wants just by his expression. “Yeah.”

“Has Bunce tried to reach you?”

“Yeah.” His eyes are glazed over as he stares at my chest.

“You’re impossible,” I shake my head. “Get breakfast and contact Bunce.” I reach down for my clothes and wand, but am pleased by the fact that his eyes follow me all the way until I firmly shut the bathroom door behind me. 

  
  


**SIMON**

A one hundred dollar _minimum_ for room service? That’s insane! I almost want to suggest we go to Maccies or something, but my stomach ultimately wins that argument. It’s going to take Baz a while to get ready even without all of his posh toiletries. 

I search for my phone, which I find underneath the massive bed. Why is everything in American so large? The bed can easily fit four people. The room is big too, and probably the nicest place I’ve ever been to—second to Pitch Manor. 

My phone is at 50% battery, which is better than I thought. There are over a hundred missed messages from Penny, and I can’t help but wince. Fuck, she’s going to skin me alive for this. I’m actually surprised that she hasn’t pinpointed exactly where we are yet. I’m half expecting her to break down the door any minute now. 

I risk sending her a text, even though I know it’ll only piss her off more than she might already be. 

**Simon** [11:32AM]: I’m alive.

 **Penny** [11:32AM]: WTF SIMON!

 **Penny** [11:32AM]: Is Baz with you????

 **Penny** [11:32AM]: ANSWER YOUR PHONE YOU ARSE

 **Simon** [11:33AM]: Yea, he’s with me. Crowley, Pen, I’m not answering.

 **Simon** [11:34AM]: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that we were together last night. We got another room, just the two of us.

 **Penny** [11:35AM]: Are you seriously telling me that you ditched me with Shepard so you can have sex? 

**Simon** [11:37AM]: would you rather we shag in the shared room? 

I immediately put my phone down. That was a stupid thing to send to her. She’ll have my head for that when she sees me. Actually, Penny might do worse when she finds out what Baz and I have done. 

I groan, and pick up the room’s phone to order our food and, once that’s done, I fall back into bed. It’s comfortable, better than any other I’ve slept on while on this trip. This American road trip hasn’t been fun, not in the traditional sense. There have been parts that were bright—like flying and kissing under the stars, but mostly it’s been terrible. Especially for Baz, and he hasn’t said a word of complaint once. And now he’s married to me. And he’s drunk my blood. 

Can vampires mate for life? Are they like werewolves in that sense? Does biting and drinking during sex mean anything or is it just another form of the act? He bit me more than once, this much I can remember. I found him drunk and thirsty and offered myself to him and he just...well, he took it. It felt _good_ , like pure ecstasy flooding my veins and the world suddenly felt like a better place. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. And then he bit me during sex and...to put it simply—I liked it. I want him to do it again. 

Wait—no, that’s not—

Fuck.

My thoughts are spiraling and I’m lost and don’t know what to do. Baz and I fucking eloped. How do we get a divorce? Do we just go to the courthouse? Is our marriage legal even if we’re not US citizens? That’s probably a stupid question. Penny would know, but I’m not going to ask Penny. 

I’m married to Baz. 

I feel…

I don’t—

I’m not sure how to feel about it. I love him, I’ve loved him for a long time, but he deserves better than someone like me. I’m a has-been, a fraud of a Chosen One, a useless lump of a human. I can’t even be a proper Normal because of my extra appendages. 

Baz deserves magic. He loves it, lives for it, breathes it. He is magic. 

I twirl the ring on my finger around. It feels odd, an unfamiliar weight on my hand. I don’t typically wear jewelry, though this one is thin and simple. 

This is insane. I’m only twenty. Really, there shouldn’t even be any sort of consideration to stay married. We don’t belong together, we don’t match anymore. We haven’t for a long time, and it was my fault for keeping us together for as long as we have been. Baz is too honorable a person to leave me. Not without a firm push.

‘ _When someone shows you who they are, believe them_.’ The quote comes to mind easily. Baz should see by now what a screw up I truly am. Who else gets drunkenly married in Las Vegas? It’s honestly something I thought only occurred in B-rated movies. 

After all, it was _my_ idea to get married. I can remember grinning at the Elvis impersonator as he beckoned us inside of the chapel. Me, heavily dosed with vampire venom, and Baz, drunk off his arse. I pulled him behind me and he willingly followed. 

Idly, I scratch at the bite marks on my throat. They’re a bit itchy from the scabbing. I took a good look at them while in the bathroom. The feel of his teeth inside of me...fuck, I wanted to feel all of him inside of me. And I did, after months of abstaining from sex with him because I’ve been terrified of Baz leaving me. We’ve only ever had sex twice before, but last night—fuck. Last night...

I run my hands through my hair and tug at the ends until it hurts and my eyes sting. Now isn’t the time to think about that.

Would our marriage be considered fraud if we were both not in the right state of mind when it happened? Did Baz even know what he was doing last night? I think a part of me did it on purpose—this way Baz can’t leave me like he wants to without it being a hindrance. We’re tied together for life now. Bound in the eyes of the law. 

My thoughts are a jumbled mess. I want to be with Baz, but I don’t deserve him. He doesn’t love me like he used to, but I am hopelessly in love with him. He’s so fucking alive and I’m a lump who barley leaves the sofa. I’ve gained weight, I’m out of shape, I have a bit of a drinking problem and—

My phone is buzzing. It’s Penny again, and I should probably answer before she possesses the bellhop. She’s tenacious and persistent and bullheaded. She’s my best friend.

 **Simon** [11:50AM]: hypothetically, how would one go about undoing an accidental marriage?

 **Penny** [11:51AM]: Please don’t tell me you two got married last night. 

**Simon** [11:54AM]: I won’t. 

**Penny** [11:55AM]: Oh, Simon.

  
  
  


**BAZ**

Simon is lying on his stomach on the bed watching daytime television. I want to sneer at it; I can’t imagine that soap operas are any better in America. 

“Food isn’t here yet?” I ask as I roll the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows. My hair is up in a ponytail since I couldn’t wash it, and my face is scratchy with a five o’clock shadow, but I did the best that I could. 

“It’ll take about an hour,” he says. He’s got a pillow folded under his chin, and his feet are bare against the headboard. He’s lovely like this, with his bed head and wings and the back of his t-shirt riding up to give room for his tail.

“Would you like me to spell your wings away?” I ask. 

“Yeah, that’d be great.” He’s not looking at me, but is intent on whatever rubbish is playing on screen. I don’t let it get me disheartened. I take the small bell that I’ve begun to carry on my person and do Bunce’s spell, followed quickly by an ‘ **early to bed, early to rise** ’ on his arse. “Oi!”

“Would you rather have a limp all day?” I ask with an arched brow. Not that I’d mind seeing that. It would be a marvelous reminder of the night prior. I remembered more of it while in the shower. Simon’s skin under my fingers, his tongue in my mouth, his hair against my chest. We went at it again, and again, and again. At least four times. 

Instead of thinking of sex with Simon, I carefully sit at the corner of the bed. 

We need to talk, him and I. We need to sort out what we’re going to do. I need to apologize for biting him. ( _Twice_. I bit him twice.) (Both times are unforgivable and I almost self-immolated with guilt while under the spray of water.)

I am a man of words, and words have meaning. Yet they always escape me whenever it comes to Simon. The silence between us is heavy with the weight of a thousand poetically unsaid words. I can’t stand it. I do like this better than fighting, but I miss how easy our exchanges used to be. 

“I, that is to say, I want to apologize,” I say, and I can hear how hesitant I am. I hate it. I hate feeling so vulnerable and open and exposed, but Simon manages to get me to break down my walls every single time. “For biting you. For possibly almost Turning you. Fuck, I could’ve Turned you!”

My nerves are frayed and I can’t help but cover my eyes with my hands for a moment in an attempt to gain control of my emotions. I could have Turned Simon Snow. I could have bloody killed him. 

There’s movement on the bed and then his warmth is right there. Our knees are touching and his breath is hitting my shoulder with how close he’s sitting. 

“Baz,” Simon starts, and I can feel his hands hovering over me, as if he’s not sure if he can touch me. As if we hadn’t fucked the night away. As if we’re not married. As if we’re back at Watford and we’re mortal enemies and to touch means pain. I wish Simon would hit me, if only to get him to feel something other than crippling depression.

“You don’t understand,” I say and I lower my palms so that I can look at him. His blue gaze is intense and focused solely on me, and I forget how to breathe. “I could have killed you.”

“I liked it,” Simon says, his voice is pitch lower than usual and it causes a shiver to go down my spine and heat to bloom in my abdomen. “I don’t think _you_ understand. I’m fine, you bit me and didn’t kill me, I’m not a vampire. And I _liked_ it, Basil. It felt good.”

I shake my head. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Yes,” Simon says. “You’ve been starving since we’ve come here, and you haven’t complained once. Your skin is burnt and you’ve lost your luggage and things have been utter shit. What we did, well, how is it different than when I donate to a blood bank?”

“Because,” I start, but am cut off with a single look.

He juts his chin out at me and furrows his brow. His curls look like some sort of rats nest and he has a toothpaste stain on his chest. Yet I’m entranced by him. By his heat and his smell. He is the flame and I am a moth. I’m flammable, but I’ll continue to come back even if it kills me. 

“I—I—well, I wouldn’t mind doing that for you, in the future? If it’s alright?”

“How could you—?” I stare at him. I want to tell him that I’m a monster, and he should stake me now before it does happen again. But, he’s being honest, I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart beat, calm and sure. He believes what he’s telling me—he wants to try it again. 

“And—and anyway.” He’s shifting awkwardly, his tail swishing behind him. “If anyone should—uh—apologize, it’s me. I—Baz, I forced you into this marriage.”

What?

“What?”

Before he can open his mouth and spew more stupidity, a knock on our suites door and the announcement of food interrupts us. 

  
  


**SIMON**

They left the bar cart with us, telling us to place our empty plates on it and just push it out into the hallway when we were done. 

I’ve opened the curtains again and we’re sitting at the round table by the window to eat.

My wedding band reflects the sunlight and I try not to stare at it—I did plenty of that while in the shower. I’ve debated taking it off, because, why get attached? But I can’t. I don’t want to. I don’t want to take off this stupid ring, because it stands for so bloody much.

“I ordered you the—uh, steak and eggs breakfast, and, um, asked for the steak to be rare,” I stutter, aware of Baz’s eyes on me the entire time. It’s a lot of food before us, but i there better fucking be considering how much this place charges. 

Steak and eggs for Baz, an American breakfast for me (two eggs, bacon, potatoes), smoked salmon, and brioche french toast. I’ve also ordered a pitcher of coffee and another of water. It smells delicious and my stomach tightens with hunger at the sight of it all. 

“Thank you,” Baz says to me. His voice is soft and it reminds me of the cashmere jumper that he’s fond of. It’s something I want to envelop myself in.

His steak is bright pink and practically mooing, but he looks pleased. I watch as Baz takes his first bite, his fangs on full display. I can’t help but be enraptured by him—all of him. 

“What?” Baz asks, peering up at me from beneath his dark lashes. He’s beautiful. 

“Nothing,” I say, but I can feel my face heat up. I tuck in instead of embarrassing myself any further. 

His ring looks good on him. I shouldn’t be surprised by this. But the warmth that spreads through my chest at the sight of it almost catches me off guard, it’s all encompassing. I adore him, I’m obsessed with everything about him (always have been), I want this to be real. I want Baz to be with me for an eternity—

“I love you.” The words fall out of my mouth without my meaning to and my throat seizes as soon as they’re out in the air. 

Baz stares at me with wide eyes. “What?”

“Fuck,” I breathe. I can feel my eyes heat up. “Fuck.” 

“Simon,” Baz says my name softly. 

He’s placed his utensils down and his hands are resting on the table. The ring on his finger is glinting in the sunlight and it’s almost like he wants to reach out to me. I want him to. 

  
  


**BAZ**

The love of my life just told me that he loves me. After he’s already married me. And, my eloquent reply is ‘ _what_ ’? Because I am a buffoon, a pillock, and an idiot vampire. 

He looks as if he’s ready to bolt, but Simon Snow has never been one to flee. He’s a fighter. (Is he fighting for me?) He’s looking at my hands, with his chin jut out and his shoulders squared. His tail is lashing back and forth and thunking against the leg of the chair, and I can’t help the smile that’s blooming on my face. I can’t help the heat building up behind my eyes. 

“You love me?” I ask, because I must. Perhaps I didn’t hear him clearly, or he didn’t mean it. 

Simon furrows his brows, and for a moment I’m taken back in time. He looks like he’s ready to deck me. Or kiss me. Sometimes, it’s difficult to tell the difference. 

“I—I—fuck. Of course I love you!” Simon says. “You’re—Baz you’re fucking perfect. I—I know that I’m a mess. I know that, I mean, I know that I haven’t been—I’m not who I used to be. I know that I’ve changed—”

“Simon,” I cut him off before he could begin to spiral. “We’ve both changed. We’re both growing still, it’s normal.”

“I don’t have any magic.”

“I don’t care about that. I’ve never—it’s never been about your magic. Simon Snow, when I say that I choose you, I mean it.”

“You love magic.”

“I love you. _You_ , Simon.”

I’m baring myself to him. Exposing all that I am and all that I’ve ever been to him. But he’s looking at me with his blue eyes, peering into my soul and not running away. Instead, he reaches over and laces our fingers together. His hand is warm, I can feel it down to my bones, the fire that is just him. 

“We’re married,” I say. “We—I agreed to marry you.”

“We don’t have to stay married,” Simon says, “if you don’t want to. You don’t have to stay with me.”

I can’t help the bark of surprised laughter that escapes me. I squeeze his hand, hoping that he doesn’t let go. Hoping that he doesn’t try to slip away.

“You don’t have to stay married to me either,” I say. “Being together, it’s a choice. I was scared that you were going to end things with me.”

His lip is wobbling and my heart sinks, but he’s latching on to me as if I’m a life raft and he’s out at sea. 

“You were.” It’s not a question, it’s a fact. One that I can’t understand.

“I—” there are tears rolling down his cheeks now and his nose is beginning to redden. “Baz, I’m _such a mess_. And...and...you deserve so much better than me. I just...fuck, I just—” He places his head down on the edge of the table, and I want to go to him. I want to get up and go around and hold him, but he won’t let go of my hand. 

“I’m a mess too,” I say. “We still match.”

He’s shaking his head. “You’re so put together.”

“I think you have me on a pedestal,” I say. “I don’t blame you for that. I am rather magnanimous, but, Simon, I’m not perfect.”

“I don’t want to hold you back,” his face is flushed as he hiccups. Admittedly, it’s not a good look. He’s not a pretty crier. Yet I still find him breathtaking. “But...I—I want to grow old with you. When you’re gone, I miss you, I miss you so fucking much. I want you to always be there, you’re the first and last thing I think of every day. And it—this feeling is too big—I don’t—I just—.”

I let go of his hand and get up from my seat to kneel beside him. He falls into me, his arms circling my shoulders as his face burrows into my neck. I hold him tightly, rubbing his back and smoothing his hair.

Who is this man before me? Was this everything he’s been holding in for these last several months? Were all of these thoughts festering until they began to poison him? 

My mind is reeling. 

“You deserve so much more than a Vegas wedding with costume jewelry,” he says into the skin of throat. His breath is hot and wet and he smells of salt and buttered popcorn and _me_. 

“Simon, I married you.” I repeat, hoping that he understands that I want him too.

The reality of everything is sinking in. The months without intimacy, the _pushing_ —always pushing—the avoidance. He kept me at arms length to protect himself because he thought I’d break his heart. 

Snow has never really had anyone other than Bunce as a constant in his life, and his love for Penelope is platonic. It’s a very different bond than him and I. What we have...it’s tangible and heavy. It’s the weight of our souls tangling together and refusing to part. It’s an eternity forged by a Crucible. 

“The rings are only a symbol,” I murmur into his crown. “They’re not what’s important.”

“Do you want to stay married?” The tone of voice he’s using is a vulnerable one. It’s timid and frail. It’s one I have never heard come from Simon before.

The truth is that I feel as if we’re too young. We’re twenty-one and twenty, Simon can’t even legally drink in this country. I’m still in university and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with his life. I live with my aunt and he has a flatmate. We both have so much more to grow—we’re both immature in some way. 

And yet...

This entire trip has been us chasing one impulse after another. It’s been a plethora of risks and exposure and vulnerability. I’ve been nearly combusted; I’ve been shot, threatened, harassed, felt up, and I’ve lost my luggage. I’ve met other vampires and dragons and creatures who remain hidden in England. 

This trip to America proves how inexperienced with life we both are and how irrational we tend to be. But, for once in my life I don’t care about being responsible or having my actions reflect on my father, (or worse, my _mother_.)

At this moment it’s just us. Simon Snow and Baz Pitch.

“I do,” I finally say. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Simon pulls away to look me in the eye. His face is red and puffy, but I’d still kiss him. He’s still so lovely. 

“Forever?” he asks. His voice is full, his hands are twisting in the fabric of my shirt, a nervous habit that’s ruining the material. 

“Yes,” I say as I place my forehead against his. “Let’s start with forever.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on **[tumblr](https://xivz.tumblr.com/)**!


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